


dark wings

by Sylv



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1442020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylv/pseuds/Sylv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Odin's ravens, reincarnated into human form.</p><p>When Allison first moves into town, Stiles has dinner with her. They watch the sunset out the back window of his kitchen and split some Oreos, a glass of milk between them.</p><p>[The Sheriff as Odin, Stiles as Huginn and Allison as Muninn.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	dark wings

When Allison first moves into town, Stiles has dinner with her. They watch the sunset out the back window of his kitchen and split some Oreos, a glass of milk between them.

;;

Stiles stumbles upon the body in broad daylight, while he is wandering around the woods in the back of the school instead of sitting in the cafeteria eating lunch. He nearly walks into the feet swaying as the body moves in the gentle breeze, hanging from a branch of a tree.

His stomach drops and he falls back on his ass because he would rather hit the ground than have his face knock into the sleek black pair of dress shoes. Before he can process, he is whipping out his cell phone and dialing the number of the station.

_“Sheriff’s station.”_

Stiles swallows, trying to wet his mouth so that he can speak properly. “Dad, you need to get over here right now.”

_“What happened?”_

“I found someone hanging from a tree behind the school.”

;;

Allison realizes she has found something because there is a splash under her boot, and she looks down to see the toe coated in red. Her head spins, the world tilts, and she thinks that she’s going to throw up except she doesn’t have anything in her stomach.

The body is ripped to pieces in front of her; flesh shredded across the chest, throat slit almost from ear to ear, and pools of blood trickling downhill toward where she is standing. The heat of the noonday sun beats down on the back of her neck and there is a burning behind her eyes.

She calls 911 and chokes out her location, focusing on the blue trail blaze painted onto the trees and not the smell of life and rust filling her nostrils. When they hang up, with promises of being there within five minutes, Allison calls Stiles.

He gets there more quickly than the police, doesn’t even look at the body because she can see his eyes roving over her pale face, the tremble of her lip. He grabs her hand and leads her back to his jeep, shooting his father a text to let him know that he is taking her back to their house.

;;

They have dinner together again. This time, Allison sits with a blanket wrapped around her and a mug of hot chocolate in her hands. The steam tickles her chin, and she takes deep breaths, pretending she is breathing in the purple of the encroaching night.

;;

The next day Stiles picks up Allison in his car and drives her to school. The sky is barely lightening when they pull into a parking space. The lot is empty, the school silent, and they sit together in the car, staring straight ahead, not saying anything.

Allison interlaces her fingers with his, because flashes of her nightmares are playing in her mind, and from the way he squeezes her like he needs her to keep him grounded, his story is playing lines underneath his skin too. They don’t move until the bell rings to signal the start of first period, and Allison pulls him to her first, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“See you for dinner?” she asks, because sitting in her home with her parents sending her concerned looks and refusing to make her any red meat is something she doesn’t think she’ll be able to stand.

“Yeah,” he answers, a real smile taking over his face, and they heave their bags over their shoulders together.

;;

The next one Stiles finds is dangling from the burned out street lamp next to the movie theater. Scott is with him this time, but his gaze slides right past the lanky limbs and he starts for the entrance, talking about how he has been craving movie theater popcorn for days.

The sight brings up Stiles in his tracks, because this time the eyes are open and staring right at him. He can’t move, can’t think, and the image of the other body crowds into his head until he hears someone screaming in a hoarse voice and realizes that it’s him.

Scott has his head cradled in his arms when the squad cars pull up, tires squealing and lights flashing. Stiles can’t remember his legs giving out, but he does remember his fingers moving on automatic to dial in Allison’s number. He only manages to say her name, and she doesn’t respond, but sitting on the phone with her listening to her breathe keeps him sane.

His dad’s forehead furrows when he sees this one, and he ushers the kids into the car, telling them to turn away, that someone will drive them back to Scott’s house.

“This is the second one that you’ve found right?”

Stiles nods.

“What the hell is going on?”

Stiles asks to be dropped off at the Argents’.

;;

Allison knows she is going to round the corner and see another blood bath because the hair on her arms raises and she feels as though she has been doused in a bucket of ice water. Lydia has her arm linked with hers, heels clacking on the sidewalk, and she would have dragged her right past the alleyway if Allison hadn’t spread her stance.

Her head whips to the left and there it is. This time she can’t even make out a face—there isn’t enough skin left on it to identify anybody. Lydia is already on her phone, back to the body and shoulders stiff. Allison can’t stop staring because there is something inside of her that feels like it’s pulling her forward but she remembers cleaning the stickiness of the blood off her shoe the last time and she is afraid she might cry.

She sleeps at Stiles’ house that night, and they make blueberry pancakes in the morning before the sun has even broached the horizon. He makes her laugh, somehow, and when they head to school she feels just a bit lighter.

;;

“What the hell is going on?”

Allison and Stiles are sitting in the hallway, shoulder to shoulder. She has her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. His legs are stretched out across the floor, bottom lip being tugged between his teeth. It was an unspoken agreement to eavesdrop on their parents’ conversation.

“Why does Allison keep finding these bodies?”

“I don’t know,” the Sheriff’s voice is tired, and Stiles can imagine him rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. “The pattern of Stiles finding the hanged ones and Allison finding the stabbed ones is unsettling too.”

Allison’s mom’s voice is sharp like the crack of a whip. “Who is doing this?”

“I can’t tell you that. An official police investigation has to be kept confidential.”

There is silence for a long moment where the three are probably exchanging looks, and then a sigh from the Sheriff. “We honestly have no idea. Maybe that Hale boy—the one whose family was killed in a fire years ago. He just moved back to town, right around the time all this happened.”

“I don’t want my daughter finding any more dead bodies.”

“We can agree on that.”

;;

They do find more dead bodies, more and more frequently, until Allison wakes up in the morning expecting to run into one sometime that day. Always between breakfast and dinner, always in a place she’s sure she won’t find one, always with the sun shining merrily down on the grisly scene.

Stiles has taken to ducking his head as he walks, hunching his shoulders and shoving his hands deep into his pockets to make himself as small as possible. Accidentally brushing into one of the corpses one time was enough to teach him his lesson. They don’t spend much time together outside of evenings, but his thumb brushes over the screen of his phone often.

_Ok?_

_Yeah. Ok._

He overhears his dad on the phone with Scott’s mom at some point. He sounds bone-weary, and Stiles knows that he has bags under his eyes as a result of how little sleep he has been getting. He hopes there isn’t a bottle of Jack sitting next to him at the kitchen table.

“Sometimes I worry that Stiles is going to run away. I couldn’t even blame him… to get away from what he’s been going through? Yeah. Me too.”

A pause. “I worry more about Allison, though.”

;;

They don’t run away, because they’re needed.

The murders are piling up, they aren’t any closer to finding whoever is killing them, and no one else seems to be able to see the bodies except for them. They’re drawn in, a gravitational pull that hurts every time it happens. Allison digs her heels in when she has the strength, but it doesn’t matter. She still finds them.

They both do.

They have dinner with the Sheriff one night, Chinese food eaten directly from cartons, and don’t talk about what has been happening around town. About the body with more than thirty stab wounds that Allison ran across on her way to the grocery store with her mom today. About the woman with a broken neck Stiles found swinging from the roof of someone’s front porch.

They don’t talk about anything at all, and Stiles holds Allison’s hand under the table.

When she kisses him later that night, she can taste the tears that aren’t there on his cheeks.


End file.
